Some things don’t make me nostalgic

CAROLE MOORE

Sunday

Mar 31, 2013 at 12:01 AM

Both of my grandmothers sewed, and by this I donít mean they could put in a hem. My paternal grandmother was a professional seamstress and crafted my motherís wedding dress and all of her bridesmaidís dresses. She demonstrated sewing machines in a big department store, making beautiful things while customers watched.

Both of my grandmothers sewed, and by this I donít mean they could put in a hem. My paternal grandmother was a professional seamstress and crafted my motherís wedding dress and all of her bridesmaidís dresses. She demonstrated sewing machines in a big department store, making beautiful things while customers watched.

My motherís mom was equally clever with a needle and thread. She made my grandfatherís suits, her familyís coats and even upholstered cars. Itís no surprise that both women came out of the Great Depression and understood the value of stretching a dollar. Back in those days, store bought clothes were expensive, so many women sewed.

And every Easter, my Grandmother Moore would make beautiful, one-of-a-kind dresses for my sister and me. They were organza and dotted Swiss, covered with lace and ruffles, and very fancy. We were the envy of all of the other moms at church.

Mom always paired these showpiece dresses with what we called ďstand-out slips.Ē These slips had stiff skirts that made the dresses we wore over them stand out. Worn with patent leather shoes and lace-trimmed socks, we felt like little princesses on Easter, albeit itchy ones because those petticoats came with a price.

We also had coats that matched our dresses, unless it was a nice, warm spring, and best of all, Easter baskets. Being kids, the baskets full of weird fake grass, jellybeans and a big chocolate bunny were our favorite part of the day. Mom and Dad would stand us in front of our grandparentsí house and take a photo of the two of us posing there, grinning, dressed in all of our Easter finery, while holding huge baskets.

But there was one thing in our Easter baskets I never quite understood: Those brightly-colored, hard, tasteless candy eggs made of some kind marshmallow product mixed with something that gave them the texture and durability of cement. Everyone raided those baskets, including our parents. But no one, not Mom, not Dad, not even other kids, wanted those brick-like, brightly colored candy eggs. Usually they were thrown out with the grass, which always made me wonder why the Easter Bunny bothered to bring them in the first place. They tasted like plaster, but as we also discovered, they also made great projectiles during the long dark sister war era.

When my kids were little, I never put those eggs in their baskets. I donít know that Iíve even seen any since I was growing up. And if they are one of those things thoroughly relegated to the past, then there really is something from my childhood that doesnít make me wax nostalgic in my old age ó those eggs.

And Toni Home Permanents.

Carole Moore welcomes email at carolemoore_biz@yahoo.com.

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